Monday, March 3, 2014

I spent some time in Afghanistan...

I read somewhere once that
if you could create a single human who is most representative of the entire
human race, based on the prevalence of all phenotypes throughout the
global population, you would have an Afghani.

For those who don't know, Afghanis
are not Arabs. They are separated from the Arab world by Persia (now Iran . . .
which is also not Arab) and are wedged against Pakistan (Indian subconinent)
the "-istan" countries (all central Asian, former U.S.S.R.) and
China. There are fair skinned, blue eyed Afghanis, distinctly
Tibetan-Asian looking Afghanis and very dark, Punjabi looking Afghanis. Of
course there are also interesting combinations of all of those.

The
complicated racial and tribal composition of Afghanistan has definitely been a
challenging factor for anyone who has ever wanted to get anything done there.
In the context of my recent whirlwind of travel I find it indicative of a
global reality. Race no longer means anything.

We identify with people who look like us. We gravitate toward the familiar.

The thing
that we call "race" is not really a scientific term. The clusters of
phenotype expressions that we recognize as race (African, Asian, Latin etc.)
are really just strains - variations within a 46-chromosome chassis that all
humans share, regardless of how different they may appear.

Why are we
so different?

We're different because for the majority of human history, populations have been isolated to specific regions. Inuit people of the polar
North tend to be short, heavy-set and eastern-Asiatic in appearance. Watusi people from the arid plains of Africa tend to be tall and thin. These
characteristics are shaped by climate, geography and diet to name a few. Basic
evolution dictates that shortness and stoutness will be prevalent among the
Inuit because those qualities favor heat retention and the ability to easily
convert sparse carbohydrates into fat. The tall, thin Watusi, inversely, are able
to easily dissipate heat, and their light construction is well suited to
hunting over great distances on foot.

Human
strains are products of these simple environmental inputs. For the majority of
our history it was impractical if not impossible for people separated by great
distances, oceans, mountains and deserts to fan out and contribute to distant
gene pools. Therefore, specific geographic regions tended to produce
populations whose prevailing characteristics were more and more stark.

Watusi aren’t
just tall, thin and black – they’re very tall, very thin and very black.

Since people
sharing those characteristics were living among one another - the common appearance, the common language and the resulting common experience
lent themselves to the perception of communality. When it all takes place in a specific geographic area, communality becomes nationality.

We identify
with people who look like us. We gravitate toward the familiar. It is perhaps
an unspoken understanding that those who look like us share our fate, and that
conditions which are good for them will be good for us as well. We're cautious and uncertain when it comes to those who do not look like us.

Afghanistan
is unique because people from that place look like everyone. It sits at a
historical crossroads between east and west. A literal crossroads.

Today, descendants
of Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great drive around in wildly painted Chinese
flatbed tractor-trailer trucks; speaking Urdu and Dari and praying to the God
of Abraham. This is a place where geography allowed people to mingle. That's
why the Afghani is the quintessential, generic human.

Leaving
Afghanistan I was dropped into Dubai. Suddenly surrounded by families and
children. Dubai also sits at a crossroads; a crossroads of ancient shipping
lanes whose old port infrastructure still handles everything from palm oil to
bats of raw silk.

Dubai is still a convenient stopping point, but now
it's a conduit for people going from Australia to London, Johannesburg
to Amsterdam, or Chicago to Lagos. As you pass through the terminal you see
just how completely those old barriers that gave humanity it's distinct strains
are no longer relevant. People from anywhere can now go anywhere else in a
matter of hours. Mountains and valleys no longer confine populations. A shepherd from Wales can meet a shepherd from Morocco at a sheep herding convention in
Auckland. This is the way it is.

Invariably, as people travel unlimited
distances, they will meet other people, relationships will form, sex will be had and babies will be
born who look a little bit Moroccan and a little bit Kiwi.

Back in the
days of compasses and tall ships this happened in small doses, but now the
floodgates are open. Now the whole world is a crossroads.

The Inuit and
Watusi can meet in a breakfast buffet at the Days Inn by the airport in Charlotte, then run
off and make a baby. You know what? . . . The kid will probably be gorgeous.

...it's downright silly for me to ascribe just about anything to my bloodline.

I have been debating a
tattoo for quite some time. I think a tattoo should
have some meaning. It should suggest something about you.

When we
take stock of who we are we tend to run through some familiar categories.
Hobbies, work, family, meaningful experiences and of course . . . ethnicity.

A casual stroll through
the Benson-Hurst neighborhood of Brooklyn (or a few episodes of "Jersey
Shore") will showcase all of the tattoo options for Italian-Americans.
Apparently, this is me. Unfortunately, I am not at all partial to golden
bull-horns or Lamborghinis with red, green and white paint schemes so none of
those would ever do.

A few years ago, Kasey and
I went to Europe. When we were in Rome, we noticed the initials 'SPQR' were
stamped into various things like manhole covers and lamp posts. I wasn't sure
if it was the name of a foundry or a concrete company at first, but I
eventually got the skinny. SPQR stands for "Senatus Populus Que
Romanus" or "The Senate and the People of Rome". A Caesarian declaration!
It's a remnant of the Roman empire! Cool!

Do I love my grandma? Of
course. Do I love meatballs? Yes. Would I love to retire in Tuscany? Absolutely
Would I love to park my Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano on the glossy white marble
floor of my garage, which is behind my retirement villa in Tuscany? Yes, yes,
yes!!!

But what about you? Do you
love your grandma? Do you like meatballs? How does the villa in Tuscany with
the Ferrari on the impossibly clean marble floor sound to you? Are you Italian?

Maybe you are and maybe
you aren't, my point is this: Being Italian is not a prerequisite for any
of the above, therefore it is silly for me to ascribe my penchant for these
things to my bloodline. In fact it's downright silly for me to ascribe just
about anything to my bloodline.

Does my family have a
distinct character? You better believe it, but how much of that is truly a
product of something endemic to the Italian peninsula vs. the natural vibe that
emerges due to overlapping generations of unique personalities? What about
those who are adopted or are absorbed into the family by marriage? Are they
outsiders? Do they struggle to fit in because they can't trace their DNA back
to Italy?

The very notion is absurd.
Of course they fit in. Of course they're family. If they yell, gesticulate, eat cannolis and swill red wine like an Italian, then I guess those
behaviors ultimately have nothing to do with genetic predisposition. I guess
those things are learned over years of Sunday dinners and Christmas Eve's at
Grandma and Grandpas house.

So if I declare something
about my "heritage" across my clavicles, what am I really saying? I'm
saying,

"This informs my world-view and my perception of truth. This is a
component of who I am. This is one thing you don't have to learn about me
because I am writing it on my skin."

In a few hundred years, the ability to distinguish yourself as a member of one group or another will become more and more difficult and equally pointless.

I don't suppose there is
any real harm in that, but when I consider the merging paths of all strains of
the human genome I fail to see the
value or the point.

What we perceive as
"race" has always been an affectation of geography and human
logistics - two forces that have been overcome with global travel and instant
communication. As our gene pools get wider and deeper, these little fantasies
that we maintain about the unique cultural experiences that supposedly make us
who we are will become less and less plausible.

Eventually, the differences
between the Italian experience, the Irish experience, the Nigerian experience
and the Japanese experience will all be revealed as minor variations on the
same theme. In a few hundred years, the ability to distinguish yourself as a member of one group or
another will become more and more difficult and equally pointless.

Some may say, "But
I love the diversity of the human race!"

Well don't worry. It's
going to take more than a few generations to manifest itself, but make no
mistake - it is the natural course.

Some may say, "My
(insert ethnicity here) background is a major component of who I am and it will
be a major component of who my children are as well. It's important to be
connected to your past."

Your ethnicity is as much
a component of your personality as you want it to be. There are members of
every ethnic group that defy the stereotype and must constantly field
accusations that they are not being true to who they are. In fact, they are
exemplary models of being true to oneself. As far as connection to your past is
concerned, you will hear no argument from me if you are extolling the virtue of
knowing your history and gleaning wisdom from those who have come before you,
but if you are suggesting that it is critical to embody something that a
previous generation embodied you are wrong.

Who was your maternal
great great great great great great grandfather? You can skip the ancestry.com
stuff, I don't mean name and occupation, I mean who was he? What was he like?
When did he first fall in love? What was his favorite color? What was his dream
in life? When was his first kiss? What did he fear most?

Okay, so you really don't
know him do you? Do you speak the same language he spoke? How do you think he
would feel to know that his great great great great great great grandchild was
speaking a foreign language in a foreign country? Does it matter?

How likely is it that your
great great great great great great grandchild won't know who the hell you are
or speak the same language you speak? Pretty likely . . . and honestly, who
cares?

Some may say, "I
am a pure (insert ethnicity) and I can't stand the idea of my pure race being
mongrelized!"

You aren't a pure anything
except for a pure asshole. You are what's wrong with humanity and you are
doomed. Your ilk exist in every strain of the human species and you all labor
under the same infantile, simple-minded, ill conceived fantasy that
propagation of your phenotype is tantamount to eternal life.

Well too bad you dunce!
You're gonna die and your ideas will die with you.

Right, the tattoo...

So even though
"SPQR" would look cool, I will refrain from calling upon my ethnicity
because I am confronted with the reality that my race doesn't REALLY say
anything quintessential about me.

I prefer to take full
responsibility for who I am, without attributing anything to a place I've only
visited and long dead relatives that I never had a chance to know.

So my new tattoo idea is this:

In bold, Romanesque font
across my clavicles I will get "EGO SUM NON CERTUS"

Translation: "I AM
NOT SURE"

Person: Is that a tattoo?

Me: Yes

Person: What does it say?

Me: It says Ego sum non
certus.

Person: Hmm . . . What
does that mean?

Me: I'm not sure

Person: You don't know
what it means?

Me: I know exactly what it
means.

Person: What does it mean?

Me: I'm not sure

etc.

It will be in latin, so
it's a little pretentious (like me). It essentially suggests uncertainty and an
eternal receptiveness to alternative versions of reality (that's totally me).
It's 100% smart ass (me) and I will have my own private Abbott and Costello
joke that I can enjoy at other's expense for the rest of my life.

This will say more about
me than any golden bull-horn or red, green and white Murcielago being driven by
Super Mario ever could.

Beside, like-a I say . . .
I like a de Ferrari on-a de white marble floor in Toscana!!!

A Whole Effing Year

That's how long it's been since I posted here.

How can I expect anyone to follow this blog or keep any interest whatsoever if that's the level of dedication I demonstrate? Shame on me.

I think it's because I'm vain and lazy. My Facebook feed gets headlines from Politico, Drudge, Politifact, the BBC - all the usual suspects, and it's just so easy to blab about something right there on my wall. That's the lazy part.

The vanity comes in the form of friends and followers who then either engage me with a rebuttal or just tell me I'm awesome. I know the truth. I am not awesome, but it's still gratifying to be praised. This blog was started because I wrote something that went viral and resulted in lots of friend requests from people I don't know; people who fell under the impression that I was awesome. I wanted to keep that illusion going by shielding them from my the inane reality of me, but the blog format is just not as conducive to praise, so there we are.

Lazy and vain.

Perhaps I should delete "The Calm Voice of Rage" and re-title this web space "Lazy and Vain"?

Moving Forward

I'm thinking maybe I should pare things down a bit and focus. Maybe I need to concentrate more on what's interesting. I do pretty interesting stuff in the grand scheme of things. I go interesting places and see interesting things, so maybe I'll focus on that for a while.

The next series of posts will feature places I've been along with some some brilliant, profound philosophical observations about those places.

That's the plan. If you're reading this you must really care. I owe it to you to give you a reason.

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Who I am

I'm a human. I am confined to the space/time continuum and I am cursed with the awareness of my own inevitable mortality.
I try to maintain my sanity in spite of this by seeking out meaning and beauty in a world littered with nonsense and ignorance. My ultimate goal is to stay true to this endeavor while avoiding the fate of guys like Hunter S. Thompson or Phil Ochs.